


Tear Them Down

by winchestner



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-24 04:49:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/935568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winchestner/pseuds/winchestner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel Novak is a boy with a problem. He doesn't understand why things can't end. Those things change when a burn out by the name of Dean Winchester comes along. Highschool!AU, trigger warnings for self harm, suicide attempts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Flooding Lungs

The man walked across the dock with prowess. Yes, he was a man. He could call himself a man, no longer a boy that stood the earth; a man. But yet, the man looked the same as he always did. He still looked like that boy. He was that boy; maybe no longer in the eyes of the government, but he was still that same, soft spoken, smaller than everyone else, awkward, boy. A boy.

He could fool his family, he could fool his classmates, hell, he could fool his dog; but there was no fooling himself. He knew what he was. He was still that 8 year old boy who jumped out of a moving car. He was still that 11 year old boy who trapped himself in the deep freezer. He was still that 16 year old boy who climbed the top of the largest tree in the woods and fell from what he thought was high enough to be heaven. He was that boy. Not the man others saw today. He was that depressed boy, though never neglected, who opened up cans of tuna and started to cut himself with the sharp lid, rather than eating its contents.  
The man walked across the familiar deck, the structure bobbing up and down with every step he took. He loved the familiar feeling of the cold steel bar in his hand, smoothing it over the grooves as he continued on his journey.

He remembered when the dock was built, he had been 14. He remembered all of the construction, all of the complaints, and of the sleepless nights due to chopping down trees.

Falling trees. It was their job, yes, of course, but did they have to excavate every last one? The trees fell like soldiers. Standing their ground until their lives were taken from them. Good soldiers, every last one. Didn’t fall down until they were knocked down.

He remembered taking his first shaky steps over the newly constructed land. He hated it at first but then he understood that this could be his new home. His new place where he could truly feel he belonged. The dock segregated him from everyone. He could be alone, he could write, he could lie in the grass, he could sing, he could put his hands behind his ears and wiggle his sunglasses up and down knowing no one would laugh because he was here. Alone. No one to bother, no one to be bothered by. He could hide in the remaining trees once he stepped off the dock.

The man continued walking gingerly, though long strides, to where his favourite tree was. He felt it. He traced the same path every time. Not hesitating when he stepped over the giant rock that had been unearthed by some small school children. Navigating his way through the weave of trees he finally made it to his. He had tried leaning against other trees before, but none were as comfortable as this. He did not know how a tree could be comfortable, but this one was. The curve of the trunk molded more than perfectly to his back.

He shrugged his pack off of his back and grabbed his pencil and blank paper. The man wrote. He always wrote. It calmed him. He did not know why, but it did.

_Brush your shoulder against the devil,_ he wrote from end to end of the page.

 

_He’ll only laugh._

_The sin washed over you,_

_more than your mass._

_Slowly,_

_Slowly,_

_Slowly,_

_You hunched to the ground._

_The red man laughed,_

_you would never be found._

The man sighed as he reached for his pack, pulling out another blank page. His writing was crooked, he knew, it was always crooked, but that would never change. He was lost in thought when he heard a noise; a crack of a branch.

“No, no, no.” The man whispered to himself and he felt a presence. Solitude. This place was his. He was to be alone.

Solitary; the word rang through his head. He shivered as he failed to find his poetry. He shoved the pencil in his bag, and started to walk briskly away from where he had been. For four years he had never been bothered here; in his sanctuary. He had a good idea of who was coming. He knew it wasn’t forest life, they were always silent. The crack of that branch was loud, large, and demanding. It was dangerous. He was in danger.

Danger. The man’s pace quickened. Only it did nothing. He could still hear the footfall behind him. He could hear the laughs, like hyenas. They were following him. They weren’t going to stop. The man would run, but he’d gotten into dangerous territory. He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t want to get lost in the now darkening forest. He stopped walking. Trying to hear where the footsteps were coming from. But it was too late; he was thrown to the ground.

“Missed you after school today, Jumper.” The boy mocked him.

Jumper. The permanent nickname he had gotten after the suicide attempt in 10th Grade.

“We thought you’d left without saying goodbye to us! But here you are, in the middle of the forest, and it’s your birthday and everything!”

“You know what happens on your birthday?” The boy with the higher voice asked.

Yes. Of course he knew. He knew it was supposed to be a joke. Something friends did. Punch their buddy lightly. But these weren’t his buddies, and they didn’t know the meaning of light.

“You gonna answer us, Jumper?”

The man stood up. If he was going to take another beating it was going to be on equal ground. But then things were never really equal for him, were they? He held his ground until they started with the leader’s main punch.

The man was winded instantly. He was never very athletic or muscular. In fact, he was losing more and more weight all the time. He didn’t do athletics. He didn’t use weight, he used words. That was his only defense.

“I’m not going to fall down until I’m knocked down.” The man replied gruffly.

“Well then prepare yourself to be knocked down, Jenga Tower,” one of them said. They all snickered, but the man did not find it funny. He never played Jenga even though his siblings did. He never found a point to the stupid game.

Stupid games. That was all he found himself playing these days.

He was knocked out of his train of thought when he suffered a blow to the face, his dark sunglasses shattering. The group around him laughed, and the man heard the sounds of what he recalled to be a ‘high-five’. He was breathing harshly and he felt around for the shards of his sunglasses; if you could even call them sunglasses anymore, they were just empty frames with a broken left arm.

He felt the lapels of his jacket being grabbed but his reaction was too late when he was slammed on the ground. His head bashed off the cold ground, and his whole head went numb. He was glad this was happening, actually. He didn’t want to do this anymore. He didn’t want life anymore.

Life wasn’t this happy thing that everyone was making it out to be, it was hard, and sad, and it made him miserable. Life wasn’t fair, and that’s why he didn’t care when he was slung over a shoulder. He could feel the blood dripping off of his forehead, all the blood in his body rushing to it, and he felt dizzy. He wished they would snap him in half already, just to get it over with. But these boys would never be over with him. It was their duty to make his miserable life even more so.

The man felt his whole body clench when he heard the familiar creak of the boards and the bob of the platform. He knew exactly how many strides it took to cross the dock and he could tell that they were half way there. But that’s when he heard it; a voice almost as gruff as his own. He didn’t know who was shouting, but he knew the tone of their voice scared him. He hoped it wasn’t a cop. He didn’t want to go in for questioning and have everyone plead their sympathy to him. He was done with that shit. In fact, he hoped it was another of their posse. He just wanted them to kill him. He realized a long time ago that death was the only way to get through life. It was the only way to make the hurt stop.

The man awaited the pain that he was sure to come, but was surprised when he felt his weight being lifted off of whoever was holding him. They were letting him go.

But they couldn’t let him go; they had to kill him, it was the only way. It was the only way he wanted. It was then when he felt more hands on him, at least six, shifting his weight around. He was waiting for them to smash his head into the wood. But it never came. Instead he felt a wetness. It was little at first, but then his whole body was submerged in it.

They threw him in the pond. He never thought drowning would be the cause of his death. But he didn’t really care. He let himself sink, letting the air out of his lungs. There was some peace to it; dying. It was calm, even refreshing, and he couldn’t have felt more at home.

He was almost there; he knew he was almost there when he felt the hands grip his shoulders. Two tight hands screaming they weren’t letting him go. He gasped when he felt himself surface. He couldn’t get enough air into his lungs, it seemed.

He felt the hands sit him up, slapping his back.

“Get your breathing right ‘cause I ain’t doin’ the kiss of life,” the voice said harshly.

After what seemed like minutes, the man got his breath back. He shoved at the force in front of him.

“Just finish me off!” he screamed, “I don’t want to do this anymore, you- you jerks! Just kill me, have your last laugh and kill me!”

“I’m not killing anybody!” the other said with a tone that matched, “I just saved your life, what is it with you anyway! Can’t you see they’re gone! It’s just me right here!” he shoved back.

“Don’t you know who I am?!” the man said on the verge of tears, “don’t you know I’d be better off gone!”

“Don’t you know who I am!” the other shot back, “I’m guessing you don’t or else you wouldn’t be here right now, you would have booked it first chance you got.”

“If you’re just another ass, then why’d you pull me out of that water? If you’re some hot shot bad boy, why didn’t you let me drown! I was better off down there than up here!” the man felt around for the bar. “Your voice sounds different, who are you?”

“Are you defissive or something?” the other said.

“I think you mean deficient,” the man shot back.

“Are you okay?” the other asked, ignoring his grammar.

“Yeah,” the man replied.

“Are you lying?”

“Yeah.”

There was silence. Neither spoke. Neither moved.

That was when the man stepped back from the bar and walked towards the other. He was standing closer than the other would have liked, but he did not back away. He stood there, watching the pensive look on the wet man’s face as if he were trying to decide something.

The man brought both hands up to the other’s face, and the other was about to say something when he saw it. He didn’t say anything at first; he just let the guy feel his face. He felt his features, his hair, his neck. The other swallowed, not sure how to come out with the question.

“Say it,” the man said. He could feel the other’s tension.

“How?” was all he could muster up. It was lame, he knew, but he didn’t know if he could choke anything else out.

The man let his hands drop slowly from the other’s face. “I was born this way, do you understand?”

He understood, he wasn’t talking about if he understood the sentence; he was talking about if he knew why this man wanted to die. Why he didn’t want to try anymore. The other shook his head but then realized that would have no effect.

“Yes,” he replied.

“I am Castiel,” he generalized.

“Dean.”

Dean didn’t know whether to try and shake his hand or not. He gave up on the thought.

“Well, thank you Dean, but really, no thank you.”

Castiel began to walk away when he heard Dean run after him, his weight pushing the dock down.

“Where are you going?” Dean inquired, “those idiots went that way. I don’t want you drowning.”

Castiel pondered this. “Why do you care?” he came back with.

“I don’t know, I just don’t want you to die I guess.”

“I won’t be dying, goodbye Dean.”

Dean stopped walking beside Castiel even though he continued on. Dean watched him move, such grace for a man that couldn’t see.

Castiel was nearing the end of the dock when Dean saw it. He sprinted after the man, catching up in what he thought was just in time.

“There’s a rock there,” he said, winded, “don’t trip over it.”

“Dean, I do not need you to be my eyes. I’ve lived 18 years without them; both of my parents were LCA carriers, that stands for Leber’s Congenital Amaurosis. It’s a condition that causes blindness. I was the only one in my family to catch it. I have walked this dock more than a thousand times. And I’ll have you know that yes, the first time the children unearthed this rock I did fall on my face. I received a black eye. But I know every rock, tree, strand of grass on this path and I will not need help. You obviously have somewhere better to be. If you are indeed Mr. Hot Shot, you will have friends to attend to. I do not. I have my pack to attend to because that is my only friend. I don’t have friends; people do not like me, Dean. So why should you.”

Dean was left stunned. He didn’t know what to say but he knew he was expected to say something because Castiel had not budged.

“I’m not saying I care because I don’t, but-“

He was cut off, Castiel snorted and walked away.

Castiel was halfway towards his tree and he sighed. Another opportunity averted. Why couldn’t God just let him be. Didn’t he see that was the only way? If God even cared one bit he would understand that Castiel did not deserve to be on this earth. He was already handicapped, that was worse than being dead. Dying would change everything.

Castiel tried to smile at the familiar crush of pine needles under his feet, but he couldn’t. There was no point to smiling. Smiling hurt his face.

Once he got to his tree he got down on his hands and knees and felt around for his pack and papers. He’d been searching for at least ten minutes when he had given up. He leaned against the tree and faltered. He let the tears come. He didn’t care anymore. No one cared. No one loved him; no one who counted, anyways.

He heard crunches.

“Hello?” he called out to the never ending darkness.

He heard breathing, and then he heard the scrunch of paper. Someone was picking up his paper. Someone found his pack when he could not.

“Hi,” the voice said softly.

Castiel knew right away. “Dean I told you not to follow me out here. This is my place. This is where I am safe. This is where I escape and you aren’t allowed to know about it!” he sounded like an angst ridden teenage girl but he could care less; this was his home, “I don’t want you and your buddies loitering out here, this is my- this is my home! And I would very much like it if you left and never came back. I don’t want you here. I don’t want anyone here.”

Castiel heard movement. He felt Dean’s body heat as he sat down next to him. Dean sat Castiel’s pack in his lap but kept a paper for himself. Cas could hear it being uncrumpled.

“D-don’t read that please,” Castiel said looking at Dean but not seeing him. Dean gaped at the childish handwriting.

“You wrote this? You can... write?”

“Yes, I can. It actually soothes me. Can you give it back please? I don’t even know you and you’re going through my personal things that I don’t even let my family go through.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean replied, half-heartedly. He folded the paper in two and shoved it into Castiel’s pack.

They sat in silence; Cas’ burning desire for Dean to leave but he knew that asking wasn’t going to make this guy do anything so he did the one thing he could, he sat.

Dean felt the need to give a part of himself away to Castiel because he read something of his; something that was him. “I-I’m a burn out,” Dean said bluntly, “that’s probably why you don’t know who I am. I gave up on school. I’m stupid anyways. There was no point.”

More silence.

“Were those guys who were beating you from school? Do you go to school? Because I can kick their ass.”

“Dean,” Castiel said finally, “I don’t want anything from you. If you want penance for saving my life I’ll pay you, I’ll give you my car, anything you want, just, leave me alone. I don’t talk to people for a reason. I don’t like people, and they don’t like me. Don’t you feel sorry for me because I’m blind and you just saved my worthless life. If you want me to thank you, then thank you. If you want me to apologize, then sorry. Just leave, please. I want to be alone. I’m safe when I’m alone.”

“Are you really?” Dean scoffed, “I don’t want to leave you alone because I don’t want you to go finish what those asses started. That’s already happened to me once and I don’t want it happening again.”

“Dean, you don’t even know me. My life is complicated. It’s not a fascinating story. It’s boring, and harsh, and cruel, and unstable and demanding. So many things people want me to do, so little of them I want to try. My life is not your responsibility, Dean. You’ll forget about me by morning. You’ll go smoke a joint with your crew and you’ll laugh about how you saved some blind guy who felt you up. So thank you for grabbing my work, and thank you for leaving.”

Dean sighed, a sad and angry sigh, if that were possible. He stood up and he started walking. Castiel stood up when he no longer heard Dean’s footfall. Cas stood up and whipped his bag to the ground. He was angry. Why did everyone always pity him? He’s blind, get over it.

But then, would Castiel ever get over it?


	2. Saving Me

Castiel woke up to the familiar sounds of his alarm. His favourite band playing as always. Bluegrass had always been his favourite music ever since he was little. His sister made fun of him for it, but he didn’t care. He always loved the unhinged sounds of the estranged instruments.

Last night had not been fun when he entered the house after the journey from his home. In Castiel’s mind a house was not a home just because you lived there. Home is where the heart is, he always read; well his heart was with the forest. His parents had talked to him about needing to be more careful. They asked him why he was wet and why he had a gash on his forehead. Castiel had told them he tripped over a stump and fell into the pond. He didn’t want to talk to them about what happened just hours before. 

He didn’t want to tell them about the bullies, he didn’t want to tell them about almost dying again. He didn’t want them to send him back to a counsellor. He also didn’t tell them about this Dean character and how he saved his life. Well, saved was a loose term. Castiel did not want to think about Dean and what he would do to his home. He didn’t want to think about the stench of cigarettes and pot when he went back there today. It is a nice spot. It’s even nicer to those who can see it. There would be no doubt of Dean going back. He would bring along buddies and they would tell each other stoner jokes. Hopefully they would be there during the school day so Castiel wouldn’t run into them after school let out.

He would do his regular routine. Walk to school, get threatened, enter the school, get shoved around, go to class, outstand his teachers, go to lunch, get food thrown at him, hear the bell ring and prepare himself for a beat down by the bullies. The usual. 

Castiel sighed as he got out of bed, every muscle in his body aching. Apparently almost dying had that effect. He felt on his head for the bandage that his sister put on last night, and ripped it off. He opened the door that entered the hallway, and Castiel walked to the linen closet. He grabbed a towel and walked back to his room. He stripped himself of his clothes, wrapped the towel around his waist and walked back into the hall; this time opening the door that led to the bathroom. 

He stuck his left hand out to feel for the towel arm and slung his towel over it. He turned the shower on and carefully stepped over the wall of the tub. Castiel let the water run over him; cold, never hot. Castiel was taller than everyone else in the family, and since they all shared one shower, the shower head was sometimes too low for Castiel to get under it. Good thing today wasn’t one of those days. 

He ran his hands through his hair, and bent down to grab a bottle. He didn’t know which one it was, yet. He felt the bumps on the bottle; his mother carefully etched them on for him. Three straight bumps in a row meant shampoo, two bumps in a row and five under meant conditioner, and six bumps in a row with one under meant liquid body soap. This bottle had two bumps with five under, so Cas set it back down on the far left of the rim of the tub so he would remember where it was. He picked up the next bottle, and it had three straight bumps. This was the shampoo. 

Castiel squeezed it out of the bottle and lathered it up in his hair. He rinsed it out and grabbed the soap. The regular soap. He never liked the liquid stuff; he didn’t feel like it cleaned him. He rubbed the bar over his body and then stepped back into the spray to wash it off. He set the bar back down on the ledge and grabbed the bottle of conditioner from where he had left it. Mirroring what he did with the shampoo, he rinsed it out but clenched at the sting when some of the residue seeped into his cut. 

Castiel felt for the knob, and pushed it down until the water stopped flowing. He grabbed onto the bar that was built for him when he slipped and almost cracked his head open once. He made it safely onto the mat on the floor and sent a shaky hand in search of his towel. He grabbed it and began to dry off his dripping skin. He brought the towel to his head and began to dry his hair; always towel dried, never blow dried. He wrapped the towel around his waist once again and opened the door to enter the hallway. 

Castiel was never one for modesty about his body; he couldn’t see what it looked like anyways. But once his parents heard his sister’s screams about seeing his naked body he was forced to wear a towel to and from his room, which he disliked very much. 

Walking into his room, he closed the door behind him and dropped the towel to the ground. He walked over to his dresser and opened the top drawer, pulling on his briefs. He rubbed a hand across his legs, he had very dry skin, his sister had bought him cream once but he never used it. There was no point. He didn’t care what he looked like, let alone other people caring. He opened up the second drawer, grabbing a pair of his dress pants. 

Castiel owned one pair of jeans, but he was never comfortable in them. He had more than ten pairs of dress pants and that was all he wore. 

As for shirts, that was a different story. He let his mother buy him whatever shirts she wanted because he could not see what was on them anyways. He always heard people snicker in the hallways at whatever was on his shirt but he didn’t care.

He opened back up his first drawer, grabbing a pair of socks that he forgot to put on. Finally, he opened his third drawer and pulled out a shirt. He threw it on over his head, and walked over to his bedside table to grab his sunglasses; only they weren’t there. They were broken, another mishap of last night.

Castiel sighed as he walked out of his room, shutting the door behind him, and heading down the stairs. With every unsteady foot he made it to the bottom. He turned right, as the kitchen was located there. He grabbed his lunch from the bottom of the fridge, and frisked the dining room table for his pack. He found it and stuffed his food into an empty pouch. 

It should be around 7:30 now; his alarm goes off at 6:30. Castiel slung his bag over his back so he wouldn’t have to look for it again later. School starts at 8:00, but his parents had gone to work and his sister had LGTBQ every Wednesday morning which meant he was alone. 

Castiel stuck his hands out and felt for the counter. He searched the counter for a loaf of bread, grabbing it once it was found and pulling two slices out. He stuffed them into the toaster and walked away, pulling out a chair from the dining room table and sitting down. 

Castiel liked school, he really did, he just didn’t understand why he had to be hurt all the time. Being blind was a great opportunity for the bullies, because Castiel couldn’t see who they were so he couldn’t tell anyone. It’s not like he would tell a teacher anyway. Castiel let his mind wander to Dean for a moment before thinking better of it. Just because the guy saved his life didn’t mean he wasn’t going to hurt him. For all he knows, he’s just another bully who happened to be at the scene and didn’t want Cas’ death to be pinned on him. 

The sound of toast popping lead Castiel out of his thoughts and back to the counter. He opened up the cupboard above him and pulled out a plate so that he wouldn’t burn his fingers while holding onto the toast. He opened the fridge back up and pulled out what he thought was jam. Nothing in the fridge had brail on it, so Castiel just had to go by what he thought was what. He opened the lid and turned his nose up at the scent of mayonnaise. It was too late now, he wouldn’t have time to search the fridge for the jam, he was going to be late for school. 

Castiel groaned as he walked out of the kitchen, not bothering to bring the toast with him. Grabbing at his shoulders to make sure the straps of his bag were there, Castiel huffed and closed the front door behind him. 

~

School was no different today than yesterday. Still educational, but excruciatingly boring and harmful. Castiel came home with no bruises, which was a good sign. He let the bullies deal with him after the last bell of the day so that they wouldn’t come over to his tree. It’s not like they would remember where it was located anyway; they were idiots. After talking to his sister about his day, Castiel was off again. He left his school books in his room, and brought his paper and pencils with him in his bag on the walk to solitude. 

Castiel was a few yards off of the bridge when he could smell it. His whole face turned up at the putrid scent. He heard a ‘yo’ once he was in view of whoever was there. Castiel responded curtly with “Who is there?”

“Dean” he responded. 

“Only you?” Castiel inquired again.

“Yeah...”

Castiel walked to his tree and set down his bag at the base of the trunk. “What are you smoking?” he asked nervously. If he was caught with the stench of drugs on his clothing he wouldn’t even want to think of the consequences. 

“Pot,” Dean replied bluntly. 

“Well, can you take your foul smelling marijuana and diminish your brain cells somewhere that isn’t here, please and thank you.”

“I don’t know, I like it here. It’s calming and quiet and away from everything.”

Castiel was losing patience, and savouring for the intake of fresh air again, “Can you go somewhere that’s quiet that isn’t here? This is where I go every day and I don’t need you here dampening the solitude or the nature.”

“Is it the pot? You want me to get ridda’ it?”

“I’d like to get rid of you...” Castiel replied under a whisper. 

“What was that?” Dean said, anger is his tone.

“Oh, uh, nothing...” Castiel replied quickly and began to maneuver himself back to his tree.

Dean dropped his joint and walked briskly to Castiel. He whipped him around and grabbed the lapels of his jacket, not much different than the other bullies had done last night. “I asked,” Dean said, “what was that?”

Castiel gulped. His suspicion had been right. Castiel kept quiet as Dean breathed harshly into his face, his breath putrid, nearing unbearable. 

“Huh?” Dean asked again.

Castiel inhaled a shaky breath. “I-I...” he stuttered, “I said I’d like to be rid of you.”

“Uh huh,” Dean replied. He let go of Castiel’s jacket like it was nothing and started to walk away. Castiel breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the footfalls disappear. 

He had been alone for almost and hour when he heard the snapping of twigs again. Castiel looked up from his paper, which was pointless, and called out, “Dean?”

No reply. The footsteps were getting closer. 

“Dean?” Castiel questioned again.

“Try again, Jumper.” The crude voice said. Castiel jumped up from where he was sitting, dropped everything, and began to run. He couldn’t believe that the bully remembered where this spot was. It was only the leader today, Castiel noticed the voice. He was running as fast as he could, bumping into a few trees along the way, until he tripped over a high stump. He smashed to the ground and knew he was done for as soon as he heard the laughter. He didn’t bother getting up; he would just be thrown to the ground again. 

Castiel embraced himself for the pain that he was sure to come, but only had one blow before he heard yelling. That voice, he knew that voice, it was Dean. Castiel’s shirt collar was being bunched as he felt less strain from the bully as he turned away to see who was yelling. Castiel guessed it was too late for whoever was about to give him a beat down when he heard the sound of a fist colliding with a face. Dean was punching him. Dean was protecting him. Castiel didn’t have time to question why when he heard a vicious thud and vibrations through the ground. Dean must have thrown the bully to the ground. He still heard the grunts from Dean as his fist connected with the bully’s face over and over again until he heard the sounds of him coughing. Castiel wiped at his face when something wet had flown onto it. Blood. The bully was coughing blood. 

“Dean!” Castiel called.

More punching.

“Dean!” Castiel called again, his voice strained and scared, “Dean, stop!”

He heard vicious breathing as Dean made his last contact with the bully’s face. “Why!” he yelled, “so he can do to you what I just did to him!”

“No...” Castiel responded. He was at a loss for words. He didn’t know why he told Dean to stop; the bully had given him enough crap over the years. 

“So why?” Dean swiped at the drool falling out of his mouth. He looked down at the kid’s face below him. He really dished it out to him. The kid’s face was already bruised, black eye forming, and there was blood on every inch of it. 

“Just... leave him alone, I guess...”

“You guess? Castiel, that’s what you have to say? Leave him alone? Why the fuck would I do that!”

“Dean I don’t need you to fight my battles for me!” Castiel hissed.

Dean audibly groaned and stood up. “Get up,” he barked to the bully. The kid was dazed, but he understood an order. He stood, shaking, and looked anywhere but Dean’s gaze. “Now you listen to me,” Dean growled, “if I ever, and I fucking mean ever, hear that you’ve been in this forest, that you’ve been seen breathing near this forest I will fucking finish you. You got that?”

The boy shook his head, but still averted Dean’s eyes. Dean grabbed his chin and forced the kid’s face to his. Their faces were so close their noses were touching. “I said, you got that?” Dean asked one more time. “Yes sir,” the bully replied, his voice broken. “Good,” Dean said, losing whatever patience he still had, “now leave.”

Castiel heard hurried steps as the bully made his getaway. He finally stood, and Dean walked to him. Dean grabbed his face and began to inspect him when Castiel turned away. “Hey,” Dean said, his voice a lot softer than when he was talking to the bully, “I think you owe me for last night, right?” 

Castiel sighed as he let Dean’s hands roam over his face. It was true, he did feel Dean’s features last night without permission, he might as well let him look his face over for injuries. Dean brushed his hand over a forming bruise, and Castiel whimpered. “Sorry,” Dean said as he backed away from him, not wanting to get too close. 

“It’s okay.” Castiel replied.

“Is your bag still at your tree?”

“Yes, and my paper and my pencil.”

“Alright, let’s go.” Dean said.

Dean began to walk when he noticed there was no Castiel beside or in front of him. He turned around and called to him. “Are you coming?”

Castiel shuffled his feet nervously. Dean saw his anxiety and walked back toward him. “What?” Dean asked.

“Dean, I-,” Castiel started, “I don’t know where I am. I-I... I’m going to need your help.”

Dean nodded his head as a yes, “Okay...” he replied, trying to have as straight a voice as possible, “do you want me to grab your arm, or put my hand on your back or what?”

“Actually, just putting my hands on your shoulders would be fine if you don’t mind...”

“Yeah, sure.”

Dean stood in front of Cas and grabbed one of his hands, putting it on his left shoulder. Castiel raised his right one on his own. Dean began to walk and slowly but surely, Castiel followed. Dean slowed down his pace when he noticed Cas having trouble. They were walking without problem when Dean put his hand on top of Castiel’s, “There’s a rock coming so I’m gonna walk around it okay?”

“Yes, okay.”

The two manoeuvred around the obstacle and were closing in on the tree. They were at the backside of the tree when Dean lifted Cas’ hands off of his shoulder and brought them to the trunk. Castiel sighed a breath of relief again, it seemed like he was doing that often, and walked around to grab his bag. Dean picked up a stray paper, but made sure to keep his eyes off it. He tapped Castiel on the arm and said, “I have one of your papers,” and Castiel lifted out a hand. Dean gave it to him and he put it in his bag along with the other things. 

“Thank you, Dean” Castiel tried to sound confident, but it came off as anxious.

“Yeah, no problem...”

They stood in awkward silence for a few moments until Castiel asked, “Do you not have friends, Dean?”. He clamped his hand over his mouth right after he knew he shouldn’t have asked that, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ask you that.”

“Yeah you did. It’s cool. I used to have friends but uh, not anymore.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh,” Castiel drooped, “okay.”

A beat passed. “Is that why you’re talking to me? Because you have no friends? I don’t have any friends either but I like it that way, so I’m sorry if you want to be my friend because you just stumbled upon me but I don’t want, nor need, friends. I’m sorry.” Castiel said, flustered. 

Dean nodded, aware that Castiel couldn’t see it. He slunk back against the tree, and crossed his arms.

“Dean?”

“What is this, 20 Questions?”

“Dean I’m not quite sure what that means, but I think my answer is no.”

Dean suppressed a chuckle. “Can I ask you now?” Castiel pestered again.

“Shoot.”

“Why were you in the forest? I mean, I told you to leave and you seemed very angry but you came back and you-you saved me...”

“I was actually coming back to tell you I was sorry for grabbing you, but I saw you running and I knew something was up so I ran after you when I saw him.”

“Are you a bully, Dean?” 

“I guess I was, but not anymore.”

“Why did you stop, I mean, most bullies don’t...” Castiel shifted nervously. 

“Same reason that I don’t want to talk about.”

“Oh, okay.”

Castiel sat down on the ground, completely aware that he was acting like a child. 

“Dean, do you know what time it is?”

“Uh, 6:34.”

“Oh, I need to be home. My parents will have dinner ready.”

If Castiel could see he would have seen Dean flinch at the statement. For now, Dean’s lucky. He didn’t want to talk about it before and he didn’t want to talk about it now.

Castiel stood up and stood still, not knowing where Dean was, but knowing that he was still there. “Goodbye, Dean.” Castiel said, facing nowhere near where Dean was situated. 

“Bye, Castiel,” Dean replied, watching Cas turn toward the sound of his voice.

Before Castiel had the chance to leave, Dean asked, “You said you come here every day?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well,” Dean said hesitantly, “Me too.”

Castiel just nodded as he walked off. He didn’t mind having Dean around if he could protect him. But part of Castiel didn’t want to be protected. Part of Castiel wanted to get beat to a pulp, and not be able to walk for days on end. Part of Castiel wanted a friend. But would a friend want to be part of what Castiel had?


	3. The Touch

Going to the house again was not fun. Castiel knew he had a bruise on his face, and it was pretty obvious. 

Walking through the front door, Cas dropped his bag in the foyer and walked into the kitchen. “Not again...” he heard his sister say. 

“Anna, I am fine. I was only punched once.”

“Do you want me to get you some ice, Cas? Or something to wipe the dirt off of your face? Mom and Dad will be down soon, they’re getting dressed. I should get you upstairs and cleaned up, come on.” Anna grabbed his hand and they began up the stairs. Castiel’s room was the last one in the hallway, and for that he was sometimes grateful. Anna opened up his door and brought him to the bed.

“Stay there,” she ordered. She walked out into the hall and came back a moment later with a damp cloth. “I’m going to wipe off your face, alright?” 

Cas nodded and cringed as he felt the bristles press over his bruise. “I’m sorry,” Anna said. “It’s okay, it was my fault anyway,” Castiel replied. 

“How on earth is it your fault?” Anna asked as she walked over to Cas’ closet and grabbed his cleanest dress shirt. “Well I thought the bully was incapable of remembering where my secret spot was, but I misjudged his memory.” He heard Anna respond with an ‘uh huh’ as she opened up one of his drawer’s, probably grabbing a clean pair of dress pants. 

“So how did he only get one punch in? Did you run away?” she asked as she walked back to Cas, placing his clothes on his lap. Castiel brought his new clothes to his bed and stood up, taking off his jacket and dirty shirt. He began to button up his new one when he replied, “I ran away at first, but then I got to a part of the forest that I wasn’t familiar with and I tripped. He only punched me once when Dea-“ Cas stopped mid-sentence, knowing he shouldn’t have said anything at all. He stayed silent as he finished buttoning up his shirt all the way to the ‘choke-hold’ button. 

“Oh, Cas...” Anna said warily, “please tell me you didn’t make a friend.”

“No!” Castiel’s voice cracked. “I do not have any friends, Dean just came out of nowhere and that’s all you need to know!” Anna was silent. “We aren’t friends! I don’t even know him, I promise.” Cas said, his face written with sincerity. 

“Alright. You know we just don’t want you to be hurt again.”

“I know.” Castiel coughed and Anna took that as her sign to go, so Cas could change his pants. He stripped down to his briefs and pulled on the new slacks and shook his head. To think Dean could ever be his friend was ridiculous! He did drugs, probably drank and smoked cigarettes too, he was mean, demanding, obviously had a short temper and wouldn’t even talk about himself. No, Dean couldn’t be a friend. Dean could be a protector. Cas could just use him as that. 

Castiel flattened his twig-infested hair, pulling out all the grass he could until he couldn’t feel anymore. He walked out of his room and closed the door quietly behind him, and went down for dinner.

~

Dean stayed leant against the tree for a little while after Castiel had walked away. He didn’t want to go home, not yet. He still wasn’t comfortable calling it home, but it was somewhere to stay. Dean nodded, not knowing why, and began to walk off. He walked to the street through the forest and began his journey back home. He walked on the sidewalk, humming to himself when he turned down his new street and walked past the unwelcoming houses. 

Dean gulped once he got to his, and walked around to the back basement door, the only place he was allowed to be seen entering the house. Dean rented out the basement, only half of it technically, there were two tenants down there but he didn’t bother with the other’s name.

They were both quiet and kept to themselves, although the sounds the other guy made during meth trips and paid sex weren’t very encouraging. Dean was used to being around junkies. He himself had never inserted a needle into his arm, but he had smoked. He’d used joints and bongs, but could never bring himself to inject. The basement was ratty and smelled musky, it really depended on what he and the other were smoking that week. It was cramped, but it was somewhere to stay; to sleep, to feel safe, unlike his real home.

Dean had been kicked out of his real home around 6 months ago. He didn’t like to think about it too often. He walked over to the fridge, grabbing a beer and sat down on his bed. There was no television down there, it’s not like he could afford one anyway, he had one book and a few clothing items. He was living the American dream, he knew. 

There really wasn’t anything for him to do but sleep, and sleep he did. He was 17, he didn’t go to school, he didn’t have a job, and the only money he had was the on the bank card his dad was too retarded to cancel. It’s not like he would have noticed it was missing, he was probably too drunk to even remember how to read a clock. Dean would have said to remember what day it was, but Dean didn’t know what day it was either. 

He looked at his watch, it read 7:36. He thought about going back out, he thought about Castiel, he thought about trying to break through his stupid head that Dean was alone too. He didn’t need to be his friend, he just wanted to be friendly, and have someone be friendly in return. Dean set his beer down on his nightstand and settled himself into bed. He would sleep now, probably wake up around 12:00 tomorrow and would have a smoke, maybe some drinks, and wait for Castiel to arrive in the forest. Dean didn’t know why, but he was excited. Maybe he could feel wanted again. He’d just have to see. 

~

Castiel excused himself from dinner and cautiously proceeded to his room, hopefully not seeming suspicious. He knew Anna wouldn’t tell, but she wouldn’t lie. If she was asked, she would say the truth. He reached his room and opened the door, closing it behind him. He sat down on his bed and waited for Anna to join him to help with his homework. None of the school textbooks were supplied in brail so he needed Anna to read out the questions and he would write down the answers. He waited for minutes before he heard the sound of someone coming up the steps. His door opened and Castiel anxiously let out, “Anna?”

“Yes,” she said, walking towards Cas and putting a hand on his cheek. Cas leaned into the touch and sighed. “Did they ask you?” he clenched his jaw. “No,” Anna smiled. Castiel could hear the smile in her voice. “Good.”

They worked through all of Castiel’s books and finished just before 9:30. Castiel thanked his sister graciously, kissed her cheek and wished her a good night. He undressed, keeping his briefs on and slid beneath his covers. He probably wouldn’t fall asleep for another hour, but he had nothing better to do. So he lie there, motionless, trying his best not to think about Dean.

~

Dean woke up sweating and clawing at his chest. Nightmares, always nightmares. “Fuck,” he whispered to himself as he saw his beer was on the floor, its contents flooded out. Dean walked over to his so-called ‘kitchen’ and grabbed a cloth off of the microwave, he walked back and began to wipe up the liquid. He caught a glimpse of his watch while doing so; it was close to 11:30 in the morning. He threw the cloth in the dirty sink and walked back to his bed, pulling out some clothes from under it. Dean’s wardrobe consisted of plaid lumber shirts and faded out jeans. He grabbed one of each and threw them on over his dirty body. He didn’t want to take a shower, he and the other tenant shared it, he was cleaner not taking a shower for years than going in that thing for 20 minutes. 

Dean walked out of the room, not bothering to lock the door, and began his walk to the forest. He knew Castiel wouldn’t be there until around 3:00 but he was over it. Anywhere was better than where he was staying. He stuffed his hand into his back pocket, making sure his pot was there, and continued on his way. The journey to the forest was about a half an hour from where Dean was staying. Dean was hungry but he forgot his card under his pillow, so he wouldn’t be having anything today. Well, at least not until he left Castiel for the night. 

Dean rounded the different trees in the forest, until finding the one where the ground under it was worn. Dean wondered how long Castiel must have been coming here. Day after day, possibly for years? He made note to ask him when he came, but for now, Dean just wanted to leave. He grabbed his pot out of his back pocket and pulled out a dollar bill. He sat down on the ground and hashed out the drug, then rolling the bill tightly so it was ready to be smoked. Dean grabbed his lighter, and lit the end, inhaling the power. 

There was a certain advantage to being high, it helped you forget. Dean leaned back against Castiel’s tree and puffed out smoke. Every inhale, Dean felt his limbs softening and his hands stopping to tremble. Dean licked his fingers and dulled out the joint putting it in his lap. He’d had enough for now, he was tired, every time he had a nightmare he was more tired when he woke up than he was when he fell asleep. Dean finally rested his head against the trunk, and let unconsciousness take him. 

Dean was still asleep when Castiel arrived. Dean didn’t snore, so Cas didn’t know he was there. Castiel walked right up to his tree, happy that no one was there, when he tripped over something. His collision with the ground earned him and ‘ow’, and a ‘what the hell’. 

“Dean? I’m sorry I didn’t know you were here!”

Dean groaned and felt up his leg; there was definitely going to be a bruise.

“What did I trip over?” Castiel asked.

“My legs, thank you.”

Castiel blushed, Dean saw it and smiled. “School good?” Dean tried, wanting to just talk.

“It was fine,” Castiel replied.

“I’m sorry I tripped over your legs, why didn’t you say anything Dean?”

“I was sleeping I guess...”

“You don’t snore; I didn’t even hear you breathing.”

“Weird...” Dean snorted, “I didn’t know I didn’t snore. Guess you learn something new every day, huh?”

“Well maybe if you went to school, you would, Dean.”

Dean stood up, facing Castiel. He didn’t grab him this time. He just stood, making his presence known when Castiel shifted. “It’s true, Dean. I don’t like that you don’t go to school. And I don’t like that you smoke marijuana, and I don’t like that you’re a bully. I don’t like how you try to intimidate people, and generally, I just don’t like you. I don’t even know you; you won’t talk to me about your life. You won’t tell me anything. ‘I don’t want to talk about it’. That’s not how you make friends Dean. Friends you can trust, I don’t trust you at all.”

Dean nodded. Castiel expected to be punched, or slapped, or grabbed, anything, but nothing happened. “I may not be very smart, Castiel, but I do know loneliness when I see it. And it’s written all over you. You think you can hide out here, with nobody to care, but you know what, people do care. Don’t your parents get scared when you come out here? Don’t they get worried when you come home with cuts and bruises? And you know what, I care a lot too. Just because we just met doesn’t mean I don’t see something more here, Castiel. I’m not asking you to be my friend, I’m asking you to be friendly.”

Castiel considered. “Don’t they get worried when you come home with cuts and bruises,” he repeated Dean’s words, “I don’t go home from here, Dean; I go to a house. I go to a house where sure it’s warm, it’s comfortable, it’s known, it’s somewhere to live, but it’s not home. Home is where you feel you belong; I don’t belong at that house. I belong here. In the forest. Where I’m safe, where I feel loved by absolutely nothing at all. I don’t go home from here, Dean, I go to where I’m expected to be; with family.”

Dean grabbed Castiel’s arm, though not rough, as though he was guiding him. And he was. He was guiding him to the tree. Dean was slightly taller than Castiel, and he put his hands on his coat-covered shoulders. “Sit,” Dean ordered, but then came a softer tone, “please.”

Castiel obliged as he fell to the ground, shaking off his bag and leaning against the tree. Dean sat beside him and they sat in comfortable silence for a while. Dean turned to Castiel and asked, “Why don’t you trust me?”

Castiel let out a shaky breath and came back with, “Because you do drugs. And probably drink alcohol and smoke cigarettes too. You’re also very demanding and mean. Not to mention you’re nowhere near my intellect which is high enough, so that’s unfair to you.”

“I’m not retarded, Castiel. Do you have any school work in that bag?”

“Yes.”

“Show me something.”

Castiel picked up his bag and handed it to Dean, “Take out my History textbook please.”

“Yes sir,” Dean mocked, though obeying.

“Turn to page 346, and read the first question. First to yourself, and then out loud. Then answer it, and I will tell you if you are correct or not.”

Dean snickered; he had this in the bag. Dean was great with History when he was in school; he loved to read about things, the wars, the political changes, and iconic moments. Dean loved memorizing the different dates. He flipped to the page Castiel had said, and read the first question. Then he read it out loud, “Many African-Americans routed their ways toward the Underground Railroad, explain in detail why this was and why it was illegal.”

Castiel nodded, and Dean asked, “Can I answer it now?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. So, all of the black people walked-“

“Please use the term African-American.”

“Fine. Many African-American people followed the North Star under a route which was described as the Underground Railroad, going through customs and riding with Quakers, whom of which helped them along their journey to freedom; Canada. At the time, many bla- African-American’s were being used as slaves to pick cotton, or farm whatever else was needed by the white man. It was harshly laboured, without pay, without food, without anything, really, and many died doing a white man’s dirty deeds. They were sick of it, obviously, and needed to find somewhere where they could be treated right. It didn’t matter if they were still working, as long as there was pay or food. They started a ‘passage’ called the Underground Railroad, which really, had nothing to do with being underground, the only thing underground was the secret of the bases the African-American’s stopped to rest at. Once they made it to the Canadian border, they were safe from slavery, although not safe from discrimination. This whole act was illegal because at the time white men thought they were superior, and they could have whatever the fuck they wanted, including free labour. Many people died trying to make it to Canada, but mostly, the operation worked. Many escaped the brutal torture of slavery, but not the memories. Please, Castiel, that was easy.”

Cas masked his surprise, he wasn’t going to give Dean the satisfaction of proving him wrong just yet.

“That was... unexpected.”

“Fuck yeah, it was!” Dean replied, giddy. Castiel could basically hear his smile.

“But just because you remember History doesn’t mean you still can’t be trusted, Dean. You told me yourself you were a burnout, and I came here yesterday with you smoking marijuana. How do I know you aren’t in any trouble? What if some guy comes to collect from you and kills both me and you in the process? And do you drink? You’re underage. I think. I don’t even know how old you are.”

“I am a burnout. But not for the reason you think. I do smoke pot, but I’m toning it down. I used to smoke all kinds of shit, but I’m just on pot now, and I’m smoking less and less every week. And I do drink, I’m 17, so you’re older than me, but I’ll be turning 18 this year.”

“Do you smoke cigarettes?”

“Not anymore, no.”

“Do you get drunk?”

“Sometimes.”

“Will you talk to me about what you didn’t want to talk about yesterday?”

That question was unwelcome, but not unexpected. “I don’t know, Cas, that’s some serious shit that brings up some painful memories.”

Castiel smiled, “You just called me Cas.”

Dean was flustered, “I’m sorry was I- was I not supposed to call you that? It’s just shorter so it seems easier I’m sorry.”

“No, Dean, don’t be sorry, that’s just what my sister calls me sometimes.”

“What’s your sister’s name?”

“Annabelle, but Anna is what everyone calls her.”

“That’s cool.”

“Yeah.”

Silence. 

“You don’t have to tell me I guess, but I would like to know Dean. If you don’t judge me for being blind I won’t judge you for whatever you went through.”

Dean smiled, “What happened to you all of a sudden?”

“You told me to be friendly, is this not friendly?”

Dean shook his head and laughed, “No, it is, I just didn’t think you would do it.”

“Are you going to tell me or not?”

“I’ll tell you some stuff, but not all of it, okay?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Castiel said, smiling, nudging Dean’s shoulder. 

Dean laughed before his whole body turned rigid, and Castiel felt that he was just about to be told something bad. “It’s okay...” Castiel tried to comfort him, reaching out awkwardly for Dean’s thigh, barely missing his crotch.

Dean’s breath hitched, and he moved Castiel’s hand down lower, out of the danger zone. “Alright. Just don’t- don’t treat me differently, okay?”

“Dean, it can’t be any worse than being blind.”

“I don’t know, Cas...”

Castiel sat, just letting Dean know he was there. For a moment he thought about rubbing his hand up and down Dean’s thigh like he did with Anna when she was upset, but thought Dean might find that weird. So he sat, and waited for Dean to collect himself and his thoughts.

Just when Cas thought Dean was going to leave it, he began, “Okay, so uh, about two years ago, I got my first girlfriend, and it was going great and everything, we kissed and held hands and all of that shit, we were also getting pretty close to that time, you know?”

“I do not know.”

“You know, sex...” Dean whispered, as if it were the most evil word on the planet, but yet he never had any trouble with shouting other profanity. 

But Castiel was here to understand, not criticize, so he let him continue. 

“And you know, she was bringing me home to her folks for the first time, and I totally wasn’t prepared, so I came to her place early, and she wasn’t even home yet, so I was waiting in her TV room when I saw someone walk by and...” Dean was breathing harshly, but Castiel was beginning to understand, he couldn’t believe that Dean would think Cas would think lesser of him. 

Castiel lifted his hand off of Dean’s thigh and felt the air around him as he breathed in. He knew Dean was thinking, thinking hard. Thinking about how to explain this. He knew it was probably etched all over Dean’s face. He moved his arm around looking for purchase. Once finding Dean’s arm he took a deep breath. 

“It’s okay, Dean. You can tell me.” Castiel breathed lightly.

Dean took a shuddering breath in. Castiel knew he was trying to compose himself.

“Her brother...” Dean said, emotion thick in his voice.

Castiel nodded and scooted closer leaning slightly into Dean still listening waiting for Dean to pour out. 

After a long while, Dean asked, “Why are you touching me?”

“Someone read to me once that touch was one of the best therapeutic methods.”

“No, I mean, why aren’t you calling me an animal, or a faggot, or anything! Why aren’t you grossed out?”

Castiel let out what he thought was a laugh, “Dean, you are homosexual. I don’t care, I am indifferent. You’re attracted to men, what am I supposed to do? Call you queer and run away laughing? Before you even think about it, the answer is no. I told you you’re problem was not worse than blindness, it turns out your problem is not even a problem at all.”

But if only Cas knew. It was a big fucking problem. But Dean just smiled. That was a tale for another angst-ridden day. 

“Aren’t you afraid I’m going to hit on you?”

“You’re going to hit me?!” Castiel said louder than he thought and shifted away from Dean.

Dean laughed, “No, hit on- oh never mind. I’m not going to hit you, okay?”

Castiel nodded and sat closer to Dean again. But for the first time, Castiel really observed Dean. He smelled, and not good. 

“Dean, you’re dirty,” Castiel said, as he continued to sniff at him.

If Cas could see he would have seen the hurt in Dean’s eyes when he thought he was truly talking about him, but then let out his anger in a breath when he saw he was talking about his appearance. “Yeah...” Dean said awkwardly, “I don’t really have anywhere to clean up...”

“You don’t have a shower?”

“I do, but it’s gross,” Dean didn’t like where this conversation was wandering, it was entering dangerous territory. 

Cas dropped the conversation and out of the blue decided he was going to come out with it, “Dean, the reason I didn’t want to be friends with you was because I, and my family, are afraid of me being hurt by one again.”

Dean was glad at the sudden change of conversation, “I’m sorry... I don’t think I’ll hurt you, Cas.”

“But that’s just the thing, you don’t think, I mean, I like you, you don’t care, but what if sometime you do care and lose your patience with me just like Ru-“ Castiel stopped talking. He didn’t want to think about it. 

“Hey, if I can tell you about being gay, you can tell me about a dick friend.”

Castiel gulped and nodded, standing up and confusing Dean. Castiel took off his jacket, and turned away from Dean, lifting up his shirt, revealing his back. There was a thick scar between his shoulder blades, from the bottom of his neck, to the very middle of his back. Castiel shivered in the cold, “I mean, I know I can be misunderstanding sometimes, and I am not very in depth, but I didn’t know I could anger someone so much that they would push me onto a metal log and completely tear open my back...” tears welled up in Castiel’s eyes at the memory, and Dean stood up and walked toward him. Dean couldn’t believe the progress they were making just today. He grabbed Castiel’s hands, and lowered them, pulling his shirt down in the process. Dean grabbed his jacket off the ground and put it over Cas’ shoulders and walked over to pick up his bag. 

He dropped the bag at his feet when he returned to Castiel and wrapped his arms around him. He didn’t care if Castiel didn’t want the affection, he needed it. Thankfully Cas gave in and wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist, Castiel didn’t know exactly how to hug. But Dean was okay with it, he just held him. Cas did not cry, but he shook. He shook violently. And Dean held him until he stopped. Dean lowered his head and whispered is Castiel’s ear, “You know I wouldn’t do that, right? I would never, ever, do that. I promise you.”

Castiel just nodded his head and pulled away from Dean. He was embarrassed from the scene he had just made and asked Dean for his bag. “It’s right here,” Dean said softly as he picked it up and actually hooked it around Cas’ shoulders. “Thank you,” Cas said, wiping at his snot, and walking away.

This wasn’t going to happen, Dean thought to himself, and he ran to catch up to him. “I’m going to walk home with you, okay? It’s not a question, it’s a statement.”

“Dean-“ Castiel began, but Dean’s finger was over Cas’ lips in a second and off of them just as quickly. He knew it was an inappropriate touch, and that Castiel wouldn’t appreciate it. “Just, don’t argue, okay?”

Cas nodded, and they were on their way.

They were off the dock when Dean asked, “Where do you live?”

Castiel kicked a rock down the gravel path, not answering the question.

“Cas?”

“Dean I really don’t think you should be walking with me. What if my parents see you? Or my sister? Or any of my neighbours? It’s not a good idea. You should know that.”

“Fine,” Dean spat, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Castiel sighed, “Dean, don’t be like that.”

“Yeah, alright. Dean this, Dean that. Dean, don’t be my friend. Wait, Dean, be my friend. Well which fucking one is it, Cas? You seem to be fine in the forest, but whenever one of us mentions anything that has to do with your home life you begin to doubt everything? So what if you have a friend? God forbid. Just because your last friend hurt you before doesn’t mean I will. I told you I wouldn’t. Jesus, I promised you. Does a promise mean nothing to you, Cas? Because if it doesn’t, great. Then we’re going to have to work on that. I’m just tired of being alone. I’ve been alone for too long and I’m sick of it.”

“Dean, I’m sorry, but-“

“But nothing, dammit! I thought we could be friends, but I understand now. You’re just too afraid of anything to want one.”

“Dean!” Castiel screamed, Dean going pale in the face, “I want a friend! I am lonely too! But yes, I am scared, and I’m nervous, and this is new ground for me! But how could we ever be friends? We’re nice to each other one moment, intimate even, and the next we’re clawing each other’s faces off? What kind of friends do that?!”

“The kind of friends who need help!” Dean boomed back, “The kind of friends who are too stubborn to worry about their own lives, and would rather care about someone else than themselves! I don’t know about you, but a self-sacrificing friend seems pretty fucking nice to me!”

Castiel couldn’t handle this. It was too big. He couldn’t even think properly. He was beginning to feel dizzy and he called out the only thing that came to mind, “Dean...” he said hazily. 

“What?!” Dean ripped out, thinking they were still fighting. 

“Dean...” Castiel cooed again, beginning to lose balance. 

“Cas, what-“ Dean was cut off, running to catch Cas before he fell to the ground. For a skinny guy, he was pretty heavy in Dean’s arms. “Cas!” Dean said, grabbing at his face. 

Castiel’s eyes fluttered and for a moment Dean thought he was out. But he called his name again and a shaky reply, “Yes,” came from Cas’ mouth. Dean let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding, and asked, “What happened?”

“My head started to spin from all of the arguing and-“ Castiel’s breath hitched when Dean began combing his hair with his fingers.

“And what?” Dean asked.

“Dean...” Castiel said, reaching his hand up to catch Dean’s, “don’t do that,” he finished, pulling Dean’s hand away from his hair. 

Dean could feel the redness in his skin, “I’m sorry, Cas, I didn’t mean to...”

“Yes you did,” Castiel repeated Dean’s words from the other day. He pulled himself out of Dean’s lap and stood up, Dean following suit slowly. Embarrassed, he began to walk away. Castiel heard the gravel crunch under Dean’s shoes.

“Dean, please,” he called out, “it’s okay.”

“No it’s not,” Dean shouted back, only continuing on his way. 

Cas shivered as he ran his own fingers through his hair. Dean didn’t say anything else, and neither did he. Castiel began to walk home. He didn’t know what was happening, and he guessed Dean didn’t know either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd just like to thank Emily, paperbackpages, for helping me with a bit of this chapter. You guys should check her writing out!


	4. The First Wall

Castiel came to the tree the next day wanting nothing more than to talk to Dean about what had happened. But Dean wasn’t there. Cas called his name over and over until he was blue in the face, but only silence greeted him every time. 

Cas walked home, not bothering to stay in the forest, and decided he needed sleep. Today was Friday, which meant the weekend was upon him. Castiel was always bored on weekends, so he usually slept. He was home for around 5:00, parched from yelling Dean’s name for two hours, he got himself a glass of juice. He walked up the stairs and opened the door to his room. He sat down on his bed a reached out for his nightstand, putting the almost empty glass on top of it. For once, he didn’t change out of his clothes; he just lay down in his bed, closing his eyes. 

~

Dean sat on his bed, flipping mindlessly through the pages of the book he had. It was his favourite book; he stole it from school before he dropped out. Its title was “To Kill a Mockingbird” he had read it in Grade 9. He tried to get his mind into reading, but he couldn’t. All he could think about was yesterday and how Cas probably never wanted to talk to him again. 

Today was Friday and Cas probably had better things to do than go to a forest. But who was Dean joking, of course Castiel would be in the forest; that’s why Dean didn’t show up today. He didn’t want to make things worse, hopefully, Cas would just brush it off as if nothing happened, but nothing ever happened the way Dean hoped it would. Dean fell asleep at around 10:00 and hoped he wouldn’t wake back up. 

~

It was Saturday and Dean needed to get out of his house. Weekends were when the other tenant paid for his hookers and they stayed for as long as they liked. Dean made sure to grab his bank card and his pot, his most valuable possessions, before he left. He walked around the neighbourhood until he found somewhere to eat. It was a little bakery and Dean ordered a bagel with butter; plain, simple, effective. He walked out of the store, smiling at one of the workers that waved goodbye and was on his way. He wanted to stay away from Cas, but he had to get out of where he was living. It was awful there. 

Dean found that singing was the best way to pass the time while he walked, so he started mumbling lyrics from a song that he had heard in the bakery this morning. He didn’t care if he was getting the words wrong, he was getting the tune right and he liked the tune. He loved how the song went from a low tempo to a fast beat at the snap of his fingers. Finally looking up from the sidewalk, he turned down the street that lead to the dock. He wanted to see Cas again, he really did, he just didn’t know what he would do, or say, for that matter. 

Walking on the dock, it bobbing his every step, Dean tried to push all of his thoughts away and have a blank mind when he would consult Castiel. But of course, his mind never did what he wanted it to. Finally reaching solid ground again, he walked through the swerve of trees to find Cas sitting at his, writing as always. 

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel let out, still writing on his paper. 

“Uh, hey.” Dean replied anxiously.

“You weren’t here yesterday,” Cas said, getting straight to the point, “for some reason I missed you.”

“Yeah... I had some- a thing to take care of.”

“Did you get it taken care of?” Castiel asked, looking up at Dean. Dean didn’t understand why he did that, it’s not like Cas could see him anyways. Maybe it was polite, but then, no one had been polite to Dean in a very long time. Dean liked how Cas did this, not push the subject, but still let it linger. 

“Not very well, no,” Dean admitted, sitting down next to Cas.

“Does that thing have anything to do with what happened, Dean? Because I told you it was okay and you just kept walking and it made me very sad, I have to admit.”

Dean sighed, “It mostly just has to do with how messed up I am.”

“You aren’t messed up, Dean.”

“I am, I really am. There are things about me that you don’t know, Cas. Bad things.”

“Why don’t you tell me?

“I’d really rather not.”

“Okay,” Cas said, leaving it at that. 

They sat for a bit, Dean glancing over at Cas’ paper every once in a while, reading what he could make out. Castiel was a beautiful poet from what Dean could see; he really should try to write for others to read. 

But Castiel was stubborn, and Dean liked that about him because he was stubborn too. 

“Dean,” Castiel looked to him again, “you really do smell. How long have you gone without a shower? Or a bath, or whatever you take.”

“Cas, my living arrangement isn’t too hot right now. It’s actually really gross I mean if you could see- if you knew what I was living in, you wouldn’t take a shower there either.”

“Dean if you say it’s unsanitary, I believe you, but you really do need to clean up. I’m sure you don’t ‘look as hot as you smell’ either,” Cas said, putting some of Dean’s play on words in his sentence. Cas reached up and grabbed Dean’s face in his hands, and grazed his nimble fingers over it. He knew it was wrong, but he needed to be sure of his assumption. His hands came to his hair, feeling to oily strands, and back down to his forehead, feeling some dirt rub into his fingers. 

“Cas, I-,” Dean started but was cut off.

“Dean, see, I was right,” Castiel said, holding his hands up, “you feel as dirty as you smell.”

Dean shuddered, “Hey, Cas, maybe we shouldn’t touch like that anymore.”

“Why?” Cas asked, face etched with confusion. 

“Don’t you think it’s a little inappropriate to touch like that?”

“Dean it would only be inappropriate if we were attracted to each other, but we aren’t so I see no problem.”

“No problem...” Dean repeated. 

“Right,” Castiel paused, he wanted to say, ask, something, but Dean saw he was having a hard time getting it out.

“What?” Dean asked softly.

“Dean would you like- would you... would you want to come to my house and maybe have a shower? My parents aren’t home, so they wouldn’t know, and my sister is a friend’s for the whole weekend. So no one will see you...” Castiel mumbled. 

“No, Cas I don’t want you in any trouble...”

“But Dean you are very dirty, and it would be my pleasure to allow you access to cleaning rights.”

Dean smiled from ear to ear, “Well if you put it that way I guess I can’t resist...”

Castiel smiled at Dean. Progress. They were making progress. Finally, Dean thought, first wall torn down.

Dean helped Cas pick up his work, he did write a lot. Dean zipped up Castiel’s bag and slung an arm around his shoulder, trying to help ease Castiel. This wasn’t easy for him, having a friend. Whatever the hell went down with the other one must have scarred him for some time. He still wasn’t over it, obviously, but Dean wanted to help change that. Dean wanted to show him that not every friend was a bad one. 

“You’re sure about this?” Dean asked for the hundredth time as they reached the gravel path. 

Cas took a deep breath, “Yes. I’m not 100% sure, but I am sure enough. You are only showering after all, and then you will be leaving, right?”

Dean nodded, “Yeah, sure thing.”

They walked in silence, Dean’s arm still around Cas’ shoulder until they turned onto his street. Cas finally shook Dean’s arm off of him, but continued walking along the path he’d walked on for many years. They were nearing his house when Castiel started to breath heavier.

“It’s okay, Cas. I can clean up somewhere else...” Dean said, his voice becoming distant.

“No!” Cas said a little louder than he should have, “Dean, I have to do this, I can do this. You’re just you. You won’t hurt me. It’s okay. Everything’s okay...” Castiel was trying to assure himself more than Dean. 

“Alright, just calm down your breathing, I don’t want you almost passing out again, alright?”

Cas nodded as he turned up a staggery walkway, and Dean followed behind. Castiel’s hands shook as he pulled out his keys, trying to find the right one. “Here...” Dean said calmly, “what key is it?”

“Dean, you can’t read Braille.”

“I can still help. Do you know what colour the key is?”

“Silver... yes, silver.”

“Alrighty,” Dean said, eliminating most of the keys, “Does it feel old or new?”

“Dean, I don’t know...” Cas said, rubbing his aching hands over his face, “Can I just have the keys back?”

“Cas you could barely pull them out of your pocket you’re so nervous, it’s okay, I’ve got it,” Dean rubbed Castiel’s shoulder. He decided the best way would be trial and error, luckily he got the right key on the second try. “Come on,” he said, putting a hand on Cas’ bag, put pushing hard enough Cas would feel his hand through. 

Cas walked through the front door, Dean following behind, closing the door as well. Cas reached for Dean’s face and out a finger to his lips. Dean’s eyes widened, but he said nothing. “Anna?” Cas called out. No answer. “Mother?” he also called out. Silence. Castiel let a breath out big enough to blow over the Eiffel Tower and took off his shoes, leaving them and his bag at the front door. 

“Come on,” he said, worrying to get Dean out of sight from the neighbours. Dean took off his shoes as well, following Cas into the kitchen. Cas motioned to Dean to sit down at the dining table, and he obeyed. Cas walked to the fridge and said, “Do you want something to drink? Some juice?” to which he got a reply of ‘sure’. Cas pulled out the juice and was about to pour it into the cups when Dean noticed. 

“Hey!” Dean said and Castiel froze, “unless you want to get drunk, you’re not going to want to pour that.”

“Oh!” Cas blushed, “I’m sorry, there’s no Braille on anything in the fridge because it gets replaced too often so I just have to guess...”

“Well that’s wine, bucko, here, I’ll find the juice,” Dean said, getting out of the chair and walking toward the fridge, “you want orange or grape?” he asked Cas, putting away the wine. 

“Grape please.”

“Great, me too.”

Dean poured the liquid into the two glasses and closed the fridge. Dean took a sip and then blurted out, “So, Cas, you got a girlfriend?”

Cas blushed again, “No.”

“Any girls you thought of asking out?”

“No, Dean. I can’t even see what they look like. All I know is what I’ve read.”

“Read?”

“Been read, sorry.”

“Have you shown anyone your poems? Like in English class or something, because they are really good, I’m not even lying.”

Castiel laughed awkwardly, he obviously hasn’t laughed a lot. “No, Dean. I don’t show them to anyone. I don’t want to.”

“Oh, alright...”

They drank their juice silently. “How about that shower, huh?”

“Oh, yes!” Castiel practically sang, “follow me.”

They began to walk up the stairs, and when they reached the top Dean felt a sense of family. It actually almost overwhelmed him. But Castiel kept walking, so he did too. They entered the last door in the hall, which Dean guessed was Castiel’s room and saw he was right when he saw dirty t-shirts on the floor. 

“Um, this is my room. I’ll wait in here while you shower I guess.”

“Okay, cool. Do you know what’s behind door number one?” Dean joked, but Castiel obviously didn’t understand it, “I mean, which door do I open, Cas?”

“Oh...” Cas thought for a minute, “the second one on the left.”

“Sweet...” Dean responded, walking out of Cas’ room.

Castiel’s shower was something Dean had never seen before. It was quite large, and there were two bars occupying two different walls. Dean turned on the tap, getting the temperature right before he began the shower. He stripped himself of all his clothes, making sure the weed and bank card were still in his pocket. When he stepped into the shower it almost felt as if he was being reborn. He felt all of grime and dirt fall away, the grease rinse out of his hair, but it also helped him relax. Dean hadn’t had a shower in over a week, so this was quite refreshing. 

Dean opened his eyes and lifted up the bottle that read shampoo. This had some weird bumps on it. _Of course you idiot_ , he thought to himself, _Cas can’t see what he’s picking up_. He squirted the cool liquid into his hands and began lathering it into his hair. Dean hated standing awkwardly in the shower so he usually sang; his choice of the day being that song he heard in the bakery earlier. Massaging his head, he let the lyrics flow out in a whisper;

“I know that time has numbered my days, but I’ll go along way with everything you say,” he mumbled out, stepping under the spray again, “I’ll ride home laughing look at me now, and the walls of my town they come crumbling down...” he laughed at himself, he was an awful singer, and him mimicking the accent wasn’t making him any better.

He found that his hips were swaying with the song playing in his head and he just mumbled the tune when he didn’t know the words, “My ears hear the call of...” mumbling, “and I know their choices cover all I’ve done,” at least he thought those were the lyrics but he went with it anyway, “I’ll explain it all to the walkman’s son I ain’t never lived a year better spent and loved,” Dean bent down for the soap. 

Rubbing the bar over his body, he started singing the slower part, “Cause I’ll know my weakness, know my voice, and I’ll believe in grace and cho-o-o-ice,” he put down the soap, washing his skin off, “And I know perhaps my heart is fast, but I’ll be born without a ma-a-a-sk...” he braced himself for his favourite part, a loud “woo!” and the banjo and guitar started playing in his head again. 

Dean stopped singing long enough to grab the bottle of conditioner off of the rim of the tub and rub it into his hair, “Like the city that nudged in my greed and my pride I stretched my arms into the sky,” stepping under the warm spray once again, “I cried Babel, Babel, look at me now, and the walls of my town they come crumb-el-ing do-o-o-wn!” unknowingly, Dean was not only an awful singer, he was an awful performer. 

Soaping his skin once more, Dean sang, “You ask where will we stand in the winds that will howl as all we see will slip into the ground!” making sure everything was back in its place, Dean continued, “So come down from your mountain and stand where we’ve been, you know our breath is weak and our body thin,” Dean was sure everything was back to normal, and he shut off the tap. He stepped out of the shower and stopped singing, as it was getting to the slow part in the song again, and he looked around for a towel. He didn’t even grab a towel. “Shit,” he whispered to himself, standing naked in Castiel’s bathroom. 

Well this was awkward. Should he call Cas? Or just go out and find one? It’s not like Cas would see him if he did walk out into the hallway... It was decided. He could do it himself. He didn’t want to bother Cas from whatever he was doing in his room. Dean opened the door, the steam flowing out, and looked up and down the hallway, no sign of anyone; he couldn’t even see Cas in his room. Dean walked out slowly and quietly, opening the door that came before the bathroom because it was smaller and looked like it opened into a closet. 

“Dean?” 

Shit.

“Yeah?”

“Do you um, do you need some clothes? I don’t want you putting back on your,” his voice was closer than before, Dean looked out from the closet, and if Cas was any closer, their lips would be touching. Dean wouldn’t lie that his cock twitched a little. He huffed and turned back to the closet, ripping through all of the blankets in search of a towel. “What I mean,” Castiel continued, “is I don’t want you wearing dirty clothes when you just cleaned your dirty body...”

“Yeah,” Dean squeaked out, “okay,” towels, towels, where were the fucking towels?

“Dean why are you just standing there?” Dean could feel Cas’ breath on his shoulder.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll be right in your room okay? Just wait there and I’ll be in in a minute.”

“Is something wrong Dean?” Cas noticed the anxiousness in his voice. 

“Um, nope.”

“Okay...” Cas turned around, though still unsure and made his way back to his room. Dean let out the breath he had been holding ever since Cas was standing beside him. Finally, he found a towel; of course it had to be under every single other thing in the closet. He wrapped the towel around his waist and walked back into the bathroom. He definitely wasn’t going to dry himself off in Cas’ room. 

When he walked back into Cas’ room, Cas was sitting at a desk in the opposite corner. “How about some clothes, Cas?” he asked. 

“Oh, right,” Cas looked up from what he was writing on and walked toward his closet. He pulled the doors open, and gestured to the array of shirts. “I think the correct term is ‘go nuts’,” he said to Dean. 

Dean chuckled, “alright.”

Cas had some very imaginative shirts, most of them had cartoon characters on them, but some of them had pretty cool designs. Dean pulled out one and saw what was on it, “’Mommy’s Little Angel’, really?” Dean laughed. Castiel blushed, “my mother does buy my shirts Dean, I don’t really care what is on them...”

“Yeah, I know...” Dean grabbed what looked like the biggest shirt in the closet, because he was a little larger than Cas. The graphic on it was some monkey eating a banana, and Dean didn’t mind. He threw it on over his head; it was felt nice to have a crisp shirt on him, unlike his raggedy, over worn, plaid shirts. “Thanks, Cas,” but Cas’ response was not a ‘you’re welcome’, it was a walk towards his dresser. He opened up his top drawer and grabbed out a pair of boxers. He thought that Dean would be the kind of guy to definitely not wear briefs. Cas turned around from where he was and faced close enough to where Dean was, “here,” he held out the shorts. Dean turned bright red.

“Cas, I- I can just wear my own...” he stuttered out.

Cas shook his head, “No, Dean, you need to keep your body clean. Please don’t argue with me. Take them,” he shot his hand out again in emphasis. 

Dean took in a breath, and walked two steps toward Castiel to grab the shorts out of his hands. Was he supposed to leave to the bathroom to put them on? He wasn’t just going to rid himself of his towel in front of Cas, he didn’t care if he couldn’t see, he wasn’t going to do it anyway. Surprising enough, Cas turned around as if telling Dean to put them on. Dean swallowed. Was he going to leave, or stay?

Cas didn’t sense movement.

“Do you not like the colour, Dean? They’re just in the top drawer if you want to choose a new pair. There are also socks, if you’d like.”

Dean cleared his throat, and his cracking voice betrayed him, “Um, no they- they’re fine.”

Cas cocked his head to the right, as if he was a confused dog. “Then I don’t understand, Dean. Why aren’t you putting them on?”

Screw it. 

Dean dropped his towel, exposing himself and pulling up the shorts as quickly as he’d ever done in his life. “No problem, see?” he replied, anxious.

Cas turned around, and Dean felt some pressure in his groin. No. This was so not happening. 

Cas opened up another drawer and pulled out his only pair of jeans. They were a bit too big for him and so he stuck his arm out waiting for Dean to grab the pants. Except Dean wasn’t there. “Dean?” Cas called out. “Dean?” he said louder. Still no reply. “Dean!” he shouted one last time, loud and gruff. He heard a door close. 

Dean didn’t know what to do in this situation. How the hell was he half-hard only after putting on underwear. Fuck, if Cas really knew how messed up he really was. Dean repeated baseball team after baseball team until he felt the pressure leave. He was in Cas’ bathroom again, and he didn’t know whether or not he should leave. He didn’t have any pants on, Cas still had those.

He heard a knock.

“Dean?” Cas whispered through the door. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Cas, I just had to pee,” was all Dean could muster up.

“Oh, alright,” Cas replied, completely oblivious, “would you like your pants now?”

“Yeah, sure thing...” Dean said as he opened up the door.

Dean took the pants from Cas’ hands and pulled them on as quickly as he could. Cas began to walk back to his room, so Dean followed suit. Cas sat down on his bed, a look of expectancy on his face, and Dean took that as a sign that he wanted Dean to sit beside him.

“You’re an awful singer,” Cas joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Dean’s eyes widened, “Shit, Cas, you heard that?”

“Yes,” he smiled, “and a lot of the lyrics were not correct.”

“Do you know that song?”

“Dean, that is my favourite band,” Cas smiled once again.

“Oh yeah? Who is it?”

“They’re called Mumford and Sons, that song is their newest hit.”

“Really?” Dean asked, Castiel looked like he truly loved talking about this, so who was Dean to deny his happiness?

“Yes.” Cas sat, flexing his fingers awkwardly. “Dean you should probably go now.”

Oh yeah.

“Yeah, it’s cool Cas. I’ll leave, but I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

Castiel stood up, Dean followed.

“I won’t be there until after noon because my family goes to church on Sundays. Is that alright?”

“Yeah, that’s alright. Thank you so much for letting me clean myself up, Cas. It really means a lot.”

Castiel blushed, “It’s alright, Dean. You are always welcome to cleanse yourself here.”

Dean laughed awkwardly, “Well thank you again, man. But I’ll go so you don’t get into any trouble.”

Cas sighed, relieved. They walked down the stairs together and towards the front door. Dean put on his dirty shoes, and looked up at Cas.

Cas reached for the door handle and pulled open the door. “Have a good day, Dean.”

Dean smiled, “You too, Cas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I really left this for a couple months, but I am back in action. Thank you to all those who read!


End file.
